Final Correspondence
by Bingo32
Summary: Published here, by the International Herald Tribune, is the last known account of the Lost Challenger Expedition. These are the final pages filed by journalist Edward D. Malone, before disappearing into the Amazon Basin. COMPLETE
1. Southampton

Disclaimer: I do not own TLW or any of the associated characters.

* * *

_~ . ~_

– **THE LOST WORLD –**

**Final Correspondence**

Macapá, Brazil – May 14, 1919

International Herald Tribune – Field Reporter, Edward D. Malone

_I address you now personally, Mr. McArdle, for it is with great concern that I set out on the second leg of this journey. It is not the reputation of the _Tribune_ or even your editorial integrity for which I express this concern, but the very character of my companions that has given me pause to continue._

_We have landed safely at Macapá, in the delta of the mighty Amazon. Lord Roxton has chartered a large steam-launch, the _Esmeralda_, which is to carry us up river to Manaus. I will, in spite of my concerns, be aboard her. I entrust this post to the harbormaster here in Macapá, with a firm confidence that these pages will find you. As this may be my final correspondence, I speak freely and leave the use of this material to your discretion._

_I shall begin this narrative from the safe harbors of Southampton, just two weeks ago…_

**Chapter I**

**- Southampton -**

A light breeze bent cold waves against the seawall, matting my jacket with a salty mist. Hungry gulls rode low, squabbling over flotsam set adrift by early morning fishermen. The Booth liner _Francisca_ sat neatly at dock, a two stacker out of the Canary Islands – and our passage to this grand adventure.

"She's a lovely ship," a familiar voice spun me about.

"Dr. Summerlee?" I questioned, although I recognized him immediately.

He extended his hand in greeting – a portly man, keen with passion and intellect but lacking the dominance of a _Professor George Challenger_… or perhaps he had outgrown it.

"You must be Ned –Ned Malone; please, call me _Arthur_."

His handshake was firm, but just at the end, there was a note of fatherly concern that I believe I took just as he had intended. I gained a measure of the man's compassion – a compassion I felt others might take as weakness.

My only estimate of the doctor had been our distant encounter at the Zoological Society's lecture hall. Here, after a redeye trip by rail and a brief rest in a shipyard inn, he seemed a different fellow entirely. Not the contrary opposition to Professor Challenger but an empathetic soul in his own right. My new companion – appraising a _lovely ship_."

"We're a bit early, Dr. Summerlee," I said, although I had intended on calling him _Arthur_, my manners wouldn't allow the familiarity. "Boarding won't begin for an hour yet."

He slipped a pipe and a tobacco-tin from his coat pocket and leaned into the railing – just alongside me. I saw the same blend of skepticism and wonder on his face that I knew mirrored my own.

"Oh, Lad… what have we gotten ourselves into?" he seemed to be asking the sea.

"I'd call it: _The Adventure of a Lifetime!_" Lord John Roxton's confident exclamation washed away our doubts (or at the very least, shamed them into remission).

The world-renowned hunter tossed down his duffle and in a single pass he shook both our hands – clapping the poor doctor's shoulder with a force that sent spark and ash from his pipe.

Lord Roxton's confidence was infectious. His company transformed fear into excitement and opportunity. I could see a change in Summerlee as well.

"Having you along may be the only sensible decision Challenger has made for this trip," the older man said, punctuating every few words with a nod of his head – lending them a mysterious credibility.

John pulled in a deep breath of the chilly morning air and looked out over the harbor. "The _Francisca?_" he questioned our ship, "I thought she'd been requisitioned to bring our boys home."

"–Just decommissioned this month," I added much too quickly, and I'm sure Lord Roxton sensed my eagerness to impress him.

He let me off with just a grin and said, "She did her part for The War… _just like the rest of us_." I felt this was his way of including me in his circle, and I must admit, a swell of boyish pride passed through me upon his approval.

The three of us stood in silence for a time.

I cannot say for certain what brought me to laughter; but there I stood, a grown man, prepared to travel half way around the globe – _in search of dinosaurs_. I laughed quietly, to myself at first, but soon I had infected the good doctor. Hearing Summerlee's laughter fueled my own, and we began to draw curious stares from passersby.

Lord Roxton issued a few embarrassed apologies on our behalf, but we would not be quieted. After a time, he shook his head, saying, "You two are going to be very hard to keep alive." And with that, he secured his duffle and took his leave.

It stung to lose Lord Roxton's approval so quickly after he had imparted it and I set out after him. Summerlee stopped me with a calm hand on my shoulder. His voice still lilt with laughter, he said, "We have a long journey ahead; give him time." He seemed to understand my need to prove myself, so I took his lead. Together, we turned back to the rail and watched the sea.

Below us, men worked rope and winch, swinging large crates from the pier to the deck of the ocean liner, where the cargo descended into the hold. I spotted Roxton moving freely amid the longshoremen, inspecting the cargo. His bearing commanded a liberty with the workmen that I knew would not have been afforded the likes of me or even Dr. Summerlee. John pulled back a tarp covering a massive stack of crates; printed neatly on each container were the words: **Challenger Expedition**.

The scope of what I had committed myself to, began to settle in. Suddenly, I felt foolish for my behavior earlier; I realized that standing in the shadow of men such as these, I could easily be cast as a _boy_. I resolved then and there to carry myself in that manner which Lord Roxton seemed to wield so effortlessly.

As if the doctor could read my thoughts or perhaps he noticed the change in my own bearing, he said, "It looks like Roxton could use a hand inspecting our supplies."

I left my kit in Summerlee's care and headed for the breach in the seawall that descended to the supply dock. As I passed the boarding ramp, I felt my newly found resolve drain from my legs. There, standing alongside Lord Roxton, was Professor George Challenger, two rugged men cut from opposite ends of the same cloth. They seemed to converse so easily, each accepting the other as his equal_._

_You may think me prattling on about my own insecurities, but I assure you Mr. McArdle, these are intimidating characters and to earn their confidence is no small task. It is important that you gain a proper regard for these men, so that you might fully appreciate the architect of their undoing – and there in, understand my apprehension to continue this journey._

As I was considering my exit, Roxton caught sight of me and called out, "Neddy-Boy, just the man we need; give us a hand with these crates." For the next hour I kept my eyes low and did as I was instructed. After a short time, Challenger offered me his gloves and was content to just give orders. Even Lord Roxton slowed a bit toward the end. As Summerlee looked on from above, I knew we both took some satisfaction that my youthful stature had proven true to this task.

The boarding bell had already rung for the second time, and we made haste for the boarding ramp. I found Dr. Summerlee there among the crowd and retrieved my bag, I offered to carry his as well, and he seemed genuinely relieved to be free of it.

"Mine are over there," a female voice caught me unaware. I turned to see Miss Krux moving through the crowd toward the front of the boarding line. Her pace seemed to indicate that she expected people to move out of her path, and to my surprise, the people did. I found my own self stepping out of her way as she approached the ticket master. It was only then that I realized, she had been speaking to _me_ when she said, "_Mine are over there_." I looked in the direction she had pointed, and there sat a pile of luggage.

I looked to Roxton in disbelief, but he only gave me a broad grin, saying, "Oh, don't worry about me Neddy-Boy; I'll carry my own." With that, he hoisted his duffle to his shoulder.

**~ . ~**

_Next Chapter:_** The Francisca**


	2. The Francisca

– **THE LOST WORLD –**

**Final Correspondence**

**Chapter II**

**- The Francisca -**

An hour later the crew cast off lines, and the powerful steam engines pushed us out of the Southampton harbor. The _Francisca_ is an old ship, but she was retrofit during the Great War and could now push 18 knots. We were scheduled to make the Canary Islands in six days, from there, eight more days would see us across the Atlantic. Miss Krux had booked us each our own first-class compartment and herself a stateroom. I inspected my room; the evidence of war still lay heavy on the walls and decking. I was humbled to think that perhaps six soldiers would have shared this space as the troops came home from the battlefields in Europe.

I unpacked my kit and tested my bunk – then I set out to find Summerlee, for it was his company that I felt most comfortable in.

"She is quite a woman," Dr. Summerlee was speaking of Mrs. Krux. I had found his compartment just up the hall from my own.

"A bit pushy, if you ask me," I said, sitting on the edge of the doctor's bunk. I watched as he carefully transferred each article of clothing, one at a time, from his bag to a column of shelves set into the bulkhead.

"Sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission," Summerlee said, as if that explained her behavior.

I laughed, saying, "I don't get the feeling that she asks for either!" The doctor chuckled along with me, and I felt an alliance growing, as if we both knew that our feet walked a little closer to the ground than those of our lofty companions.

Just then, a voice filled the room, carried through a series of pipes from the helm. It was the Captain welcoming us aboard and laying out the day's itinerary – meals, activities, sea conditions, and general information. It was nearing lunchtime, so the doctor and I set out for the ship's dining room.

I had crossed the Atlantic a number of times but never as a first-class passenger. I must admit; I was impressed with the dining hall. Summerlee picked a table near the center of the room and soon both Roxton and the professor had joined us. We waited a time for Miss Krux but when she failed to show, we made our lunch choices without her. The food was as fine as that served in the fancy restaurants of London, and I was hard pressed to choose between the roast lamb with mint jelly and wild rice, or the baked pheasant with roasted potatoes. By meal's end, I had sampled each of the dishes and washed it down with – what proved to be – too much champagne.

I spent the next few hours in my bunk, which I found only by the guidance of Dr. Summerlee. I woke to the dinner bell with no appetite and a spinning head. On the writing table next to my bed, I found a measure of headache powder, a decanter of water and a brief note; just three words: _Pace yourself lad_. It was signed, _Arthur_.

My memory of the noon meal was fuzzy. I was filled with a sinking feeling that I had called Miss Krux's manners into question regarding the _luggage incident_. It was my vague recollection that I had told the table _exactly_ what I would have said to Miss Krux – had she shown up for lunch. My declaration was met with laughter and then dismissed as champagne fueled bravado. As I persisted, Lord Roxton had threatened to hold me to my word upon next being in the lady's company. I could not recall how we had left the matter, but I knew that missing the dinner bell would make me look the fool. I washed down the doctor's headache powder with the entire decanter of water, and I began to dress for the evening meal.

Dinner aboard the _Francisca_ is a formal affair, and while lunch had been impressive; dinner was overwhelming. A string trio played in one corner; the lighting had been dimmed and crystal chandeliers lowered. The effect was a starlit night over a grand ballroom.

I found my companions at the same table that we had shared for lunch; to my relief, Miss Krux was not among them. As I took my seat I was met with cordial greetings, and it appeared that my earlier transgression had been forgotten. My nerves were still on edge and I calmed myself by realigning my silverware.

"It all sounds so good. How does one choose?" Dr. Summerlee tossed his meal placard to the table.

"Yes," Lord Roxton agreed, fixing me with a stare, "I wonder what Miss Krux will be ordering?"

I looked to the empty chair next to Roxton; draped over the back, was a clearly feminine and very fine silk shoulder wrap. I picked up my menu card, and with more confidence than I felt, I said, "I'm guessing the salmon steak with dill sauce."

John gave me a rogue smile and let out a genuine laugh, and I saw a bit of that devilish charm he was so well known for in the social circles of London.

"What did I miss?" Miss Krux asked, as she approached the table. John stood and the rest of us followed his lead.

"Oh, I'm just winding up our young reporter," John said, as he situated our new guest's chair. Her gown was in the latest Paris fashion, and the neckline demanded the utmost concentration to look elsewhere. I could have stood on my chair and quacked like a duck, and not a person in the room would have noticed me. Every eye was on her.

"Don't let him bully you, Mr. Malone," she said. Leaning closer to me, she touched my hand and whispered, "In international waters, his title doesn't mean a thing."

I knew right then – I would be carrying a lot of this woman's luggage.

Professor Challenger cleared his throat, in that manner people do to gain a group's attention, and then he stood, holding up his champagne glass. "I propose this toast: What we have undertaken today, will redefine the _World!_" It was clear that he was addressing the entire room, and he drew a few stares. "By year's end," he continued, "mankind will witness proof of living – breathing – prehistoric creatures!" There was a light round of laughter, but the professor ignored it and took his seat.

"Let the fools laugh," he said, in a tone that was for our table alone. "The important thing is – _we_ aren't laughing."

I lowered my head a bit to avoid Roxton's accusing gaze.

"Now that the five of us are all together, I believe formal introductions are in order," the professor said. Over the next two hours I learned a great deal about my companions and the mission in general.

_I can tell you, Mr. McArdle, it is not by happenstance that this team has come together. I have no words to convey the sense of destiny that settled upon us that evening; that I am playing a part, is both exciting and terrifying. I opened this post by telling you that I question the very character of my companions. By evening's end, the first of my concerns had surfaced. For now, I remain an unbiased reporter and I will write only what I am certain of. _

As the meal got underway, I listened. The doctor bantered with the professor. Lord Roxton and Miss Krux were locked in a flirtatious game of cat-and-mouse, although I was never sure who was the mouse. Then, all four of them would converse together for a time. I piped up when questioned but mostly, I listened.

Professor George Challenger was a visionary and he had gambled his scientific reputation on this expedition. Dr. Arthur Summerlee was a botanist and the Zoological Society's impartial witness – sent along to verify Challenger's claims. Lord John Roxton's role was clear; our very survival is in his care. As for Miss Marguerite Krux, with no visible links to old-money, she had funded the entire expedition (her stateroom alone had cost better than one thousand pounds). Her only stipulation: That she be allowed to accompany the mission. I looked at my own role, and suddenly it was very clear; if this was _destiny_, my job was to put it onto paper.

We said our goodnights and I began to mingle toward the exit. I was purposely taking my time in the hopes of sharing the walk with Summerlee. I happened by Miss Krux; she was chatting with a stately Frenchman who seemed to adore her. My French is quite poor, but Marguerite appeared to speak it fluently. It was her grace with the language that had caused me to eavesdrop. Just then, I caught sight of the doctor nearing the exit, and I quicken my pace to catch him.

We strolled aimlessly, talking over the day's events. I was surprised to learn that he had absolutely no expectations of finding evidence that would support Professor Challenger's claims. We walked in silence for a time as I pondered my own expectations. On the lido deck, Summerlee settled into a deckchair and tapped a sheaf of tobacco into his pipe. I watched as the moonlight twisted magically around our wake, and I realized – the boy in me believed I was going to see dinosaurs.

Later, as I climbed into my bunk (for the second time that day), I could scarcely believe that less than one day had passed since I had left London.

I woke early and was eager to get to the promenade deck to watch the sunrise. My previous voyages had been in steerage-class, and we had not been permitted onto the upper decks. I dressed quickly, with the intention of waking Dr. Summerlee, but as I fastened my wristwatch, I found it was not quite four in the morning.

As I roamed the empty corridors, passing time, I was pleased to find at least one other passenger awake. I had circled to the starboard side of the ship, still amid the first-class compartments, as a woman stepped from a room into the walkway. She turned up the hall, away from me; to my surprise she was wearing riding breeches and boots. I judge myself a modern man; I have always supported the suffragette movement, but I am still unaccustomed to seeing a lady wearing trousers in circles such as these. I don't believe the woman ever saw me, and I watched as she hurried up the hall – her dark braid keeping time with her step.

"You're certain I didn't wake you?" I asked Summerlee – for the third time.

"Cherish your youth, Lad," the doctor advised me, "when you reach my age, most of your night is spent restlessly awaiting the morning."

I had busied myself until five o'clock, but then I could wait no longer and I had tapped lightly on his door. Now, he sat on his bunk, lacing up his deck shoes. He stood and drew his suspenders up over his shoulders.

"First, the dining hall for a cup of tea – then we'll find your sunrise," he said, with an enthusiasm that belied his rumpled appearance.

The sky was still black and scattered with stars as we reached the promenade. Summerlee carried his tea to a deckchair and I leaned into the railing. We talked quietly, in the dark, for nearly an hour – and then it was upon us. Fire tore open the horizon in a manner unknown to land. Night turned to day. The flat black ocean woke, turning to a deep blue, laced in gold.

I shook my head in wonder and realized – I would never be able to put this into words.

It was only then that I noticed the soft snores coming from behind me; the poor doctor had fallen asleep. It struck me odd that he could sleep through a spectacle that I found so wondrous. I noticed a wool blanket folded neatly under his chair, and I covered my elderly companion up to his chin. I wondered then: Would my first real adventure be his last?

I left Dr. Summerlee to sleep and I headed back to the ships dining room for a second cup of coffee. I was pleased to find Lord Roxton and Marguerite seated at our usual table. They seemed to have taken up where they had left off the previous night, although now it was clear – Roxton was the entranced mouse.

"Ned!" John called out as I neared the table.

I smiled at his enthusiasm, though I thought it likely his bold conduct had more to do with Miss Krux than my own arrival.

"Let me pour you a cup of tea," he said, reaching for the china pot at the center of the table. Then he turned the pot to Miss Krux's teacup. "A refill for _Mademoiselle Smith?_" he asked playfully.

"Let it go, John," Marguerite said, a bit annoyed.

Lord Roxton continued to push, " That fellow over there seems to think that our lovely Miss Krux, is in fact, _Mademoiselle Smith_." He pointed out to me the very same Frenchman that I had seen Marguerite speaking with the night before.

"I think I'll get a cup of coffee," I said, as delicately as one might say that to an Englishman. A dawning was upon me and I needed time to collect my thoughts.

Marguerite rose quickly, saying, "I'll join you, Mr. Malone." As she turned and stepped away from the table, I was struck with confusion. Her thick dark braid settled between her shoulder blades and there she stood – in riding breeches and boots.

_It was clear that it had been Marguerite I had seen earlier in the first-class corridor, but what you must understand, Mr. McArdle, is that Miss Krux's stateroom is located on the deck above. I will not speculate as to why the lady was exiting a room, other than her own, at four in the morning – or whom that compartment might belong to. Yes, my French is poor, but as I pieced together what I had overheard the night before, I realized that I had seen Miss Krux, unmistakably responding to the name: Mademoiselle Smith._

_I am no gossip columnist, Mr. McArdle. If this were a simple question of promiscuity, I can assure you, it would have no part in this narrative. Even as I write these pages, here in Macapá, I question my courage to complete this assignment. I tell you now, Sir, that by the time we had crossed the Atlantic, I would witness a very calculated and cold-blooded murder; moreover, I believe one of my traveling companions would be responsible._

**~ . ~**

_Next Chapter:_** The Canary Islands**


	3. The Canary Islands

– **THE LOST WORLD –**

**Final Correspondence**

**Chapter III**

**- The Canary Islands -**

"Magnificent," Professor George Challenger mumbled to himself. "Tell me, Mr. Malone, do you know how this majestic archipelago came by its name?" He rested his weight against the bow rail, his eyes fixed on the towering cliffs of Tenerife.

We were rounding the northeastern tip of the island, en route to the port of Santa Cruz. Through no design of my own, I found myself alone with the professor (a predicament I had carefully avoided since leaving London). Now, as we neared our only port of call before crossing the Atlantic, I questioned why I had been intimidated by the man.

My confidence restored, I answered, "Canaries – the colorful little birds?"

Professor Challenger looked down at the naked ocean. "Some fifty million years ago, magma erupted from this seafloor – and so began its two mile climb to the surface." He spoke as if he were witnessing his own words, "billowing, cooling, and erupting again; until this island was born." Challenger pointed to the peak that dominated our skyline. "Mount Teide, as you see it now, Mr. Malone – two miles _above_ sea level and fifty million years in the making – is not done yet. It last erupted only ten years ago."

I stood, silently, waiting for him to finish, but he only stared at the mountain, lost in his own thoughts. Finally, I asked, "And… the origin of the _name_, Professor?"

"Use your mind, _Son!_" he hissed, and he seemed genuinely annoyed with me. "The creatures we seek walked this Earth before that mountain was a blemish on the ocean floor. If you're to be of any use to this expedition, you'll need to do better than: _Colorful little birds!_"

The professor's outburst had undone me. I felt a heat in my gut rising to my eyes – a swell of confusion and anger. Tongue-tied, I watched as he stormed off, tossing me a dismissive hand over his shoulder.

I am not certain when I became aware of her or for how long I stood there – collecting myself; but at some point, my focus settled on Miss Krux. She was sitting in a nearby deckchair, a parasol propped upon her shoulder, a worn novel open on her lap; but her eyes were on me – and had been for some time, I think.

Once sure she had my full attention, she asked, "Have you been following me, Mr. Malone?" – as if she were asking me the time-of-day.

"Pardon?" I asked, my mind still reeling from the professor's assault. I was scarcely ready for _this_ inevitable confrontation.

She swung her legs to the deck and carefully set aside her book and sunshade. "Let me put this in another way, Ned," she almost purred. So swiftly, then, did the lady close the distance between us, that I recoiled in anticipation of a beating. She stopped just inches from my face and continued in an acid whisper, "You don't have the stomach to follow where this might lead."

I suspected she was right, but I refused to be bullied for a second time in as many minutes. "Is there some reason why I _should_ follow you, Miss Krux?" I pressed the question, but I already had too many answers.

She stepped back and adjusted my collar. "_Canis_, from the Latin, meaning: _Dog_," she said, gently tracing the lines of my lapel.

I brushed her hands aside, unwilling to swallow another hook. "I'm sorry to rush off, but I'm meeting the doctor for lunch," I feigned apology and stepped past her.

"The Romans called these islands _Canaria_, Mr. Malone, in honor of the indigenous _canines_ that lived here." I continued to walk away, but she held my pace. "They followed their arrogant noses into something they didn't understand and savage dogs tore loose their jugulars – not _colorful little birds!_"

_You may find this amusing, Mr. McArdle, that this slip of a woman could intimidate a grown man; but Miss Krux has an ineffable way of controlling the people around her. After six days aboard ship with her, I had begun to see my companions as players in her private puppet show – she feeds Challenger's ego like a caged pet – Roxton is bewitched by her femininity – and I am the butt of her every joke. Only Summerlee seems to be immune to her manipulations. My true concern, Sir, is that Miss Krux has intentionally undermined the expedition's confidence in me; to what end, only the lady knows – but she has made it clear that she can have me dismissed on her whim._

My confrontation with Miss Krux had begun four days previous. I am a reporter not only by trade but also by nature. When I had seen Marguerite exiting that compartment at four in the morning; there was no stealth on her step, no shame in her bearing – whatever happened in that room, the woman had been in complete control.

That evening I had found a stairwell just up the hall and I began a watch on the room. My instincts warned me to stay clear of Miss Krux's affairs, but the reporter in me needed to know more. I had only just begun my stakeout, when the lady came down the stairs from behind me. I quickly made up a pretext for my position, but it was clear that Marguerite had seen through my excuse – the gauntlet had been thrown down.

Since that time, I had in fact been _following_ Miss Krux; I had seen her masquerade as _Mademoiselle Smith _several times, watched her both enter and exit the mysterious first-class compartment, and witnessed her deliberate erosion of my standing with Professor Challenger and Lord Roxton. By my own measure, I had more to lose than to gain in this pursuit – the woman had cast veiled threats of torn jugulars.

By the time I reached the ship's dinning room, I had decided to close my investigation of Miss Krux. My assignment was to report on the Challenger Expedition's hunt for dinosaurs, not the miscreant behavior of one of its members. I had no evidence that her actions were criminal and thereby newsworthy, or that her intentions ran contrary to the mission – although I suspected all three were true; still, I washed my hands of the woman.

The sight of Dr. Summerlee seated at our usual table brought me instant comfort. His warm greeting and unconditional acceptance moved me. I had held my emotions in check in spite of Challenger's abuse and Marguerite's threats, but when faced with Summerlee's kindness, my frustrations spilled out. Within minutes of sitting down, I had recounted my entire morning, from billowing magma to Roman jugulars – and my friend patiently listened.

"He means well," the doctor told me. "Imagine all of your peers inhaling at the same moment, preparing to laugh at you – and all you can do is wait." He took a short sip of his tea and continued, "That's what George is feeling. He doesn't mean to take it out on you."

"Well, he did," I said, and I felt the weight of the morning lifting from my shoulders.

I believe the doctor sensed my closure on the issue, and he changed the subject. "Will you be going ashore?" he asked. "We'll be docking right after lunch."

Before I could answer, he continued. "Dracaena draco, the dragon tree – they say when the tree is cut, it bleeds red." His eyes were beaming with a passion I had not yet seen in the doctor. "The locals call it, _dragon's blood_; how I would love to get a sample."

"So, this is your sunrise," I said, but Summerlee's imagination was already roaming the hillsides of Tenerife. I recalled the words he had said to me that first morning aboard ship, and I tried to match his enthusiasm, "First, a cup of coffee, and then we'll find your dragon tree!"

"And that will likely be the last we see of you two." Professor Challenger approached our table with his usual charm.

"Really, George," the doctor said, "must you sully everything?"

"Come now, Arthur, I'd expect this from the boy, but you… you know better." The professor took a seat at our table, and his tone changed to one of genuine concern. "There is every manner of charlatan watching these docks, just waiting for a pair of rubes to wander into those alleyways."

"Well, Sir, this _rube_ has been in a port or two!" Summerlee stood. "And as for Mr. Malone: Don't confuse youth with ignorance."

"Oh, but they so often go hand-in-hand, don't they?"

"I've known you for thirty-odd years, George Edward Challenger. I don't know what – _or who_ – has soured you on…

…"Damn it, Man, I didn't come here to argue. Whether I like it or not, _I need you_ on this expedition, Arthur. It's your voice the Zoological Society is waiting to hear." Then the professor turned to me. "And, Son, if I've judged you unfairly, I apologize… I need your pen as well."

"Was that so hard, George?" Summerlee put a hand on each of our shoulders, as if he were a bridge. His infectious smile spread straight to me and caught a corner of the professor's lip as well.

"If you must go ashore, at least stay together," Challenger said, and he left the dining hall.

The doctor retrieved his botany kit and I changed into my hiking boots. Within an hour, we were headed down the first-class departure ramp.

I spotted Marguerite about halfway down the incline. She was on the arm of the same Frenchman I had seen her with several times, and I knew she would be playing the roll of Mademoiselle Smith. So convincing was her transformation – I had actually overheard her speaking broken English with a thick French accent. She was not simply _speaking French_; her company believed she _was French_.

I cleared my head of Miss Krux and clapped Summerlee on the back. "Where are we headed first?" I asked, with renewed vigor.

Santa Cruz de Tenerife is one of the grandest ports in the world; the atmosphere is that of a never-ending carnival. I must admit: Challenger's warning was not misplaced; the crowds were rife with pickpockets and con-artists. We kept our wits about us and our hands on our wallets, and by mid-afternoon we had reached the outskirts of town.

The doctor found a dragon tree in no time and he began dissecting a small piece of bark. The tree did truly bleed red. He collected the thick blood-colored resin in a small jar and buried it deep into his daypack. The ship was scheduled to depart on the evening tide, so we set a brisk pace back to the docks and arrived in good time for boarding.

Access to the ocean liner had been blocked. Local policemen were directing the crowds and boarding traffic was being channeled through makeshift checkpoints – passengers were being questioned before boarding the ship.

"Something big has happened," Summerlee said, and he gestured to the nearest checkpoint. "Those men are Scotland Yard – a bit out of their jurisdiction I'll wager."

The sun was sinking behind Mount Teide and the lights nearest the ship were coming to life. One of the Scotland Yard officers was organizing ranks using a bullhorn – the whole scene was taking on a surreal quality.

Summerlee and I filed into one of the first-class lines. As I stood there imagining what this could be about, I saw a motorcar beyond the crowd. There was a curtain of police surrounding it and more officers loading something heavy into the back. I had seen that manner of weight too many times during the War, and my stomach went hot with bile.

A dull ringing filled my ears and my vision tunneled. I was drawn to the auto, knowing what I would see when I got there. Summerlee called after me, but I couldn't make out his words. An officer stepped up to fend me away, but I could see the corpse from where I stood.

I don't know why I had expected to find Miss Krux's body wrapped in that tarp, but the revelation that it was _not her_, brought me to my senses. I exhaled in relief and the sounds of the docks came rushing back.

Summerlee came up alongside me, "Good Heavens," he said, "that's Monsieur Le Deux… He was sailing with us."

I was so relieved that the body had not been Marguerite's; I hadn't even noticed that the dead man was her traveling companion from earlier that day. A whole new host of concerns flooded my mind, but I set my resolve on getting aboard ship, confident that Miss Krux would find her way safely aboard.

It took better than an hour for the doctor and me to reach a police checkpoint, and we were waved through without question. As we made our way up the boarding ramp, I watched the police with renewed interest – they were only checking the boarding passes of the female passengers.

From my vantage on high, I search the crowds for Miss Krux; but the daylight had faded completely and I was unable to locate her. Once on deck, it would be two more hours before we would get underway. Dr. Summerlee retired to his cabin and I remained behind, scanning the thinning crowd.

"I see you made it back in one piece." Lord Roxton baritone voice surprised me in the darkness. The confident hunter took a place alongside me and looked out over the pier. "Looks like we'll be casting off lines soon enough," he said.

"I haven't seen Miss Krux return yet," I said, my eyes still searching the docks.

"Return? She never left," John said. "A lady, alone... in _this_ port of call? Even Marguerite has limits."

"I'm sure I saw her, just in front of me, as the doctor and I were leaving this afternoon."

"Never happened Neddy-Boy, Miss Krux has been in her stateroom since lunch; I walked her there myself. In fact, I'm on my way to check on her now; the kitchen is serving a late supper for the folks still boarding – care to join us?"

Arguing with Lord Roxton would have served no purpose, so I bid him a good supper and held out hope of spotting Marguerite. I stood watch until the police began removing their barricades and the crews started retracting the boarding ramps. If Miss Krux hadn't gotten on the ship ahead of me, it appeared she would be missing the boat altogether.

I had started down the promenade, toward the stern, with plans of joining Roxton in the dining hall – when I spotted her.

She was moving quickly from a shadowed alley toward the cargo dock. She had timed her run well, and the few policemen that remained never saw her make the dash. As she descended the cargo ramp, I lost sight of her, but I could see that there were still some crewmen loading freight. I had every confidence that the tired longshoremen would be more than happy to rescue the beautiful damsel – and help her aboard.

_Mr. McArdle, on your instruction, I am here to report on Challenger's prehistoric findings – not Miss Krux. But I am convinced that these two stories are in fact, one. I have told you, Sir, that destiny has taken a hand in this venture. Marguerite could have no more missed that ship, than I could have stopped myself from racing to the cargo hold to intercept her. Although for days to come, I would not understand the implications of what happened next; the encounter would have repercussions as far away as Shanghai._

I had descended two decks when I heard Marguerite's voice echoing up the stairs from below me. For the first time in my presence, her speech was edged with fear. "You don't know what you're talking about, Callum."

"Return what you have stolen, Miss Smith, and no one _else_ will get hurt," a man's voice carried up the stairs – very calm and in complete control.

I could see Marguerite backing up the stairs now and I saw a man calmly walking towards her. She turned to run up the stairs, and he bolted after her. As she reached the landing, she ran straight into me.

"Ned," she squealed, and I do believe that it was the first time the woman was happy to see me. She gripped my arm tight and slid just a bit behind me.

The man she had called Callum stopped at the top of the stairs; it was then that I realized he was soaked to the skin with seawater. I played the best card in my hand, saying, "Perhaps we should take this up with the captain – see what his position is on _stowaways?_"

To my compete surprise, Callum answered, "My thinking as well. Miss Smith, shall we go see the authorities?"

Marguerite seemed to have gained a little of her poise back, and she _said to me_, "We're not hall monitors, Ned. We don't even know this gentleman."

I was staggered by the turn of events. Here I stood _again_, odd-man-out in Marguerite's game of lies. I turned to leave and said, "I'll just leave you two down here to sort this out."

I couldn't get more than an inch away from Miss Krux; she was clinging to my arm, refusing to turn her back on this man. We backed down the hall a bit and Callum held his position.

"It amazes me, Miss Smith, the number of men who are willing to die for you," he said, in that same composed tone. "You have until Macapá." And then he jumped over the banister, down to the metal gangway below. I rushed to the rail and looked over – but the man was gone from sight.

I heard the steam whistles blast, and the_ Francisca_ lurched forward; the powerful little tugboats were pulling us out to sea.

**~ . ~**

_Next Chapter:_** Atlantic Crossing**


	4. Atlantic Crossing

– **THE LOST WORLD –**

**Final Correspondence**

**Chapter IV**

**- Atlantic Crossing -**

"Whoever did this, knew exactly what they were doing," Professor Challenger said. He was lying on his back under the main console of the ship's helm.

It was the morning after my encounter with Callum, and the professor had requested my assistance. "Steady that light, Malone," he barked at me, but I now recognized his rough tone as passion more than true irritation.

I lowered the lamp a bit. "There, Professor?" I asked.

"Yes… but we're finished here," he said, as he slid out from under the console and sat up. The captain offered him a hand, but Challenger chose a nearby table for support and stood.

"Can you fix her?" the captain asked.

"Well, given the right equipment… and time…" The professor drifted off mid-sentence, and I could see his mind racing as he looked around the room. "I would need to fabricate an induction coil," he continued.

He looked as if he was mentally disassembling the helm, but he wasn't speaking. After a moment I asked, "You said: _Whoever did this…_ are you saying it was sabotage?"

"No. A saboteur would have put a boot to it," he answered. "Whoever took that induction coil left the wireless in perfect working order – but the machine is useless without it."

"Will we have to turn the ship back, Captain?" I asked.

He laughed, "Son, I've been crossing this ocean for forty years, most of those trips were made without a radio."

"I'll see what I can do about building us a coil," the professor assured him.

"We couldn't be in better hands if Marconi himself were aboard," the captain said.

"Bite your tongue, Sir!" Challenger shot back, and that passion seemed to have turned to irritation. "When that charlatan, Marconi, fit the St. Paul with wireless, he was using seventeen of Tesla's patents!"

The captain only laughed and said, "You have my apologies, Sir – please, you and your associates join me for dinner this evening at my table."

Challenger was still deep in his rant regarding the '_true origins of radio'_, so I accepted the captain's invitation on his behalf and ushered the professor from the bridge.

As we walked back toward the passenger quarters, I considered telling Challenger about Marguerite and the stowaway, but I was at a loss. I knew Marguerite would deny any knowledge of Callum and that Lord Roxton would take up her defense – believing she had spent the previous day in her stateroom.

_Lord Roxton is no fool, Mr. McArdle. What the lady claims, he is honor-bound to believe; but Miss Krux appears to have an intoxicating effect on the man. I will now tell you, Sir, the remaining details of the night we departed the Canary Islands…_

Callum jumped over the banister to the metal gangway below. I raced to the rail, but he had vanished with astonishing speed. I turned back to Miss Krux, and she was gone as well. Her footfalls were echoing from the stairwell above me. "I wasn't finished with you, Marguerite!" I called up the stairs, and I set out after her.

I knew if I was going to expose Miss Krux, this was my opportunity. I wasn't prepared to physically restrain the lady, but if I could get to Marguerite's room before her – I could bar her entry. Her appearance and dress were that of a woman who had spent a long hot day in the city, not the look of a bed rested benefactor. My hope was to trap the lady with the day's evidence still upon her and prove to Lord Roxton that she had lied to him.

I had climbed five decks from the cargo hold, and I still had yet to catch Marguerite. I was beginning to think she had taken another route. The first-class staterooms were in view and I began scanning the doors for Miss Krux's suite number.

Roxton made an agile sidestep and easily avoided my collision. "Eyes on the road, Mr. Malone!" he said. He looked every bit an English Lord. He had dressed in a jacket and tails. A silver serving tray was balanced on his left hand, and a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes were locked between the knuckles of his right.

I was relieved that one piece of my puzzle should fall into place so easily. Seeing Roxton leaving the area with his meal uneaten confirmed that he had found Miss Krux's room empty. "So, Marguerite wasn't in her stateroom after all?" I asked hopefully.

"We'll see," he said, as he stepped around me. "Her compartment is just up the hall here." And he continued to walk in the direction I had just come from. I heard a door quietly shut from around the corner, and my hopes sank.

I stopped and leaned against the bulkhead, listening while John stepped around the corner and knocked politely on Miss Krux's door. As time passed, I held on to a measure of hope. John knocked again and after a time there was a muffled voice from beyond the door.

"Truffle delivery," John teased. I stepped around the corner; I had no idea what I was going to say, but I felt that this chance was slipping away. Marguerite had cracked the door, her hair was loose and she had pulled a robe on over her clothes.

I reasoned that the lady had two choices: Let us in, or leave me alone with Lord Roxton to speak my mind. Her eyes drifted from me to Roxton and then to the two champagne flutes he was carrying. "Is this a dinner for _three_, John?" She asked coyly. She left the door ajar, and retreated deeper into the room. "Just give me a moment to dress."

The woman had given Roxton the space to do exactly what she knew he would: He gave me that look – universally understood to mean, _"This is a one-man-job!"_ I tried to reason with him, but he stepped into the room; and while looking straight at me, he said, "Mr. Malone had other plans." With a flip of his foot, he shut the door.

As the adrenaline drained from my system, the day took its toll. I was famished so I stopped by the dining hall, but it was closed. I passed by Summerlee's cabin in hopes of a friendly ear, but I could hear his soft snores through the door. I found my own bunk and settled in for the night. It struck me comical that while I drifted off to sleep, hungry, Marguerite was dining on truffles and champagne.

The next morning I rose early and headed straight for the ships dining room. Roxton was at our usual table drinking tea; he looked beat.

Even though I knew it to be improper, I asked, "Long night?"

"Yes," he said, and then he immediately recanted it. "No… not like that!"

"I didn't mean…" I lied – because I had meant it exactly _like that_. Miss Krux had forced me to a place beyond manners.

"I'll tell you truthfully, Mr. Malone: No sooner had you left, than Marguerite emerged from her dressing room. She thanked me for the supper – _and then she put me out like the cat!_"

I saw an opening in his discontent, and I considered how I might tell him about Callum and Miss Smith.

Just then, Professor Challenger passed our table. Without stopping, he's said, "Mr. Malone, you're with me." And he walked right out the portside of the dining hall. I jumped up and followed after him. The professor was still talking as I caught up, "The wireless is out; I may need that youthful back of yours." Together, we headed for the helm.

We had examined the wireless and we were walking back toward the dining hall; Challenger was still carrying on about Marconi and Tesla as we arrived. Marguerite had found Roxton at our table and the two of them were laughing quietly together. They fell silent as we approached and I saw immediately that Roxton's confident swagger had returned. Any chance I had of changing his views on Miss Krux had passed.

The professor finally wrapped up his lecture on early-twentieth-century-patent-fraud and he said, "The captain has invited us to his table this evening – five-thirty, sharp – dress appropriately – leave all speculation as to our mission to me. I'll be in my room until dinner." And then he left the dining hall; but not before taking a salt shaker from the adjoining table, borrowing a pocket watch from the dining steward, and then securing two hat pins from an elderly woman at the doorway.

I couldn't help but laugh and say, "I think that man is going to build an induction coil." I watched Miss Krux closely for a reaction, but she revealed nothing. I explained about the broken wireless, but neither she nor Roxton were concerned – in fact, they both seemed eager for me to be on my way.

"If you'll excuse me then," I said, "I'll find Dr. Summerlee and tell him about our supper plans." I had to admire Lord Roxton's diligence; the moment I departed, he settled his considerable charms squarely on Miss Krux – and I do believe the lady was basking in his pursuit.

_Dinner at the Captain's Table has a dizzying effect on one's ego, Mr. McArdle. I am embarrassed to admit that my sense of self-importance may have rivaled even Professor Challenger's as we were escorted from the main hall and into the captain's private dining room. But, from there on, Sir, it was a stuffy and boring affair – pretentious men, speaking only of themselves, drinking too much wine. Only two facts from the evening bear my reporting: The announcement of the Mid-Atlantic Ball, a gala to take place the following night (a point Lord Roxton seemed delighted by); and secondly, Miss Krux did not attend the Captain's dinner (a point Lord Roxton made excuses for). _

"She had an appointment with a cobbler in steerage-class," Roxton explained. "In the bush we're bound for, Mr. Malone, your footwear will be as important as your rifle. A loose boot heel could be the difference between _eating lunch_ and _being lunch_." The table laughed along with him, but I chalked it up to more of Marguerite's games, and I was happy to see the dinner finished.

From the moment I had become suspicious of Marguerite's conduct, I had imagined Dr. Summerlee to be my ally. I had expected him to take my stead as soon as I was ready to confront the lady. In reflection, I had only come to him when _I needed_ support – I had never included him in my investigation.

The day following our dinner with the captain, I brought Summerlee his morning tea and a bit of pastry. I was prepared for the doctor's validation of my case against _Miss Marguerite Krux_, but instead, his words sent me adrift.

I told him of Callum, the stowaway; of Marguerite's deceptions as Mademoiselle Smith, and of my fears that one of them had sabotaged the wireless. I reminded him that she had walked down the departure ramp only a few paces in front of us at Santa Cruz, and then she had lied about it.

"Ned… Son, of course I believe you. I am simply saying: _I_ _never saw_ Marguerite leave the ship. If you're asking me to vouch for your honesty, you have it; but if you're calling me as a witness, I am sorry, My-Boy, but I am foremost a scientist – I can only attest to that which I have seen."

For the entire voyage I had presumed to shelter Dr. Summerlee from my fears – absently thinking I could just feed him my own opinions like _a bit a pastry_. I was guilty of the very offense that I had suspected others of: I had taken my friend's _compassion as a weakness_. Now I was forced to face Marguerite alone.

I was in no mood for dancing, and I had no intentions of attending the evening's gala. However, as with all things involving Marguerite, _my intentions_ had little bearing on what would actually happen.

I shut myself into my room and paged through an old newspaper. (I had brought along the most current London printing of the _International Herald Tribune_.) I reread one of my own articles covering Professor Challenger's presentation at the Zoological Society, the very assembly that had given birth to my current assignment. In the adjacent column was a story of a murder that had taken place that same night – only one block away from the professor's lecture. As I read the article, my imagination made a frightening leap. I dressed as quickly as I could, and then I raced through corridors and climbed stairs to join the _Mid-Atlantic Ball._

_As a journalist under your tutelage, Mr. McArdle, I should have reported sooner that Callum had a tattoo of a black widow on his left cheek; but until reading about the London murder, the tattoo had held no meaning. Our own newspaper had reported the murder victim as having known ties to the Xan Crime Syndicate – identified by a black spider on the nape of his neck. Callum had made bold threats, Sir, words I had dismissed as those of an angry stowaway with no access to the first-class decks – but a Xan assassin could float as freely through the ship as a shadow._

I arrived to find the celebration in full swing. The dining hall had been converted into a grand ballroom, and I hastened through the crowd to find my companions. Only Summerlee was seated; John and the professor were standing near our table watching the couples spin about the dance floor. I joined them.

Of course, Marguerite had delayed her entrance. I could tell by Roxton's searching eyes that I wasn't the only one anxious for her arrival. He saw her first, and I followed his line of vision.

She wore a three-tone velvet gown, tight around her waist and bosom. Her emerald eyes peaked from beneath a dark porcelain mask that had been woven into her raven hair with matching silk ribbons. The flowing layers of her dress swept the tile as she crossed the ballroom.

"That woman could wrap herself in sackcloth and wear a nun's habit and still hold every eye in the room," Lord Roxton whispered from behind his mask.

"The intent of a masquerade ball is to add a layer of mystery to the courting ritual," Professor Challenger explained.

Roxton dropped his visor and glared at the professor. "I swore I would follow you to Hell and back, George, but if you add _one more layer of mystery_ to that woman – I'll jump off this boat and swim back to England."

Marguerite stepped up to the group. "Mask up John, your spoiling the surprise."

He raised his mask and said, "You look astonishing… Madam," as if he might not have recognized her from behind her disguise.

Marguerite fell in between John and me; as the music ended, she leaned closer and said, "Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Mr. Malone."

As infuriated as I was with the lady – for just a moment – I was reduced to a smitten schoolboy, rocking from limb-to-limb and poking my toes at the floor. I quickly gathered myself behind my anger, refusing to be drawn into another one of her manipulations (although, that may have been her very intent).

Most certainly, Marguerite knew what Callum wanted from her, and she knew that he was willing to hurt her to get it (or those around her). I had rushed to the ball with the intention of warning her that she may be in even more danger than she realized – that Callum could be connected to the Xan Family. Even a man with a tattoo on his face can blend in at a masquerade ball.

It was likely that Marguerite was the lesser of these two evils, but I didn't want my concern for her safety to be misread as absolution. I decided that one quick dance would give me an opportunity to share my thoughts. By the time I had my courage up, Lord Roxton had already offered Miss Krux his arm, and the two of them were walking onto the dance floor.

The music was beginning and Lord Roxton had pulled the lady a bit too close for decorum. I could overhear their subtle flirtations – there was an undeniable chemistry between them. Roxton had just taken his first step back, gracefully guiding Marguerite along, when another gentleman tapped him on the shoulder. The man's stature and bearing held a confidence unaccustomed to refusal. He expected to cut-in and assume Lord Roxton's dance.

I had been watching both entrances closely for any sign of Collum; hidden face or not, he should stick out. I hadn't expected to find him standing right in front of me – in full evening attire, clean shaven, with polished shoes. A string held his mask in place, but I could see traces of his tattoo just below it.

Couples began to twirl by, but Roxton had stopped to confront the usurper, "Wartime is over, Sir; you can wait your turn."

Roxton began his waltz for the second time, but Callum stepped in his way, and said, "I really must insist." I had never seen two men held together by such composure and yet so completely ready to kill one another.

Marguerite stepped between them. With her hand still held in Roxton's, she said, "Just one turn around the floor, John; I'll be right back for our dance." Callum took her by the waist, and the two of them waltzed away.

Roxton dropped his mask to the floor and loosened his collar. I watched Callum and Marguerite for any signs of hostility, but they seemed to be carrying on like any other couple. When the dance ended, the lady returned to our table; but Lord Roxton had left the ballroom, and he had taken both bottles of our champagne.

I looked around the room for Callum, but he had already found an exit. The mood at our table had gone quiet. Summerlee excused himself and the professor left shortly after. I said goodnight and prepared myself to be alone with Miss Krux, but she had returned to the dance floor. I sat there for an hour, but she never came back – there was no end to the number of men waiting to dance with her.

_Mr. McArdle, I tell you now, the next few days were the lowest of our voyage. Lord Roxton had stopped attending our meals. Miss Krux had dissolved into her own secrecy. And I spent most of my time in my room; I even avoided Dr. Summerlee (feeling that I had let him down in some way). Challenger was oblivious to the changes. If destiny was still in our midst, I no longer understood my role._

It was the final night of our Atlantic crossing. I had packed my kit for our morning departure and turned in early. I lay awake for hours. Our real adventure was just beginning, but something disquieting had settled on our group.

My thoughts were on the starboard side compartment, the one I had seen Miss Krux exiting the first morning aboard ship. I had assumed that the cabin belonged to Monsieur Le Deux, but I had been wrong. I had seen Marguerite use the room several times after his passing. I dressed and headed starboard. If I were to find any answers before the ship reached Brazil, they were in that room.

It was the middle of the night, so I knocked lightly. I waited a bit and then tried again. I knocked louder the third time, but still, no one answered. I turned to leave, but only took a few steps. I turned back and pounded on the door hard – and then again. Finally, it opened.

"Alright, alright – you'll wake the whole ship!" Marguerite pulled me inside. She was alone in the room, and it looked as though I had interrupted her packing.

The door was still open, and I saw a shadow from the corridor fall into the room. I turned just in time to catch Callum's cupped hand against my head. I felt my eardrum turn to liquid, and my vision spun with sparks. A curtain of darkness closed in around me and I fell into the writing desk.

Marguerite dove for her open suitcase. I could feel blood spilling down my cheek as I forced away the shadows. I was shocked to see Miss Krux spin back around with a handgun. Callum stepped past me and brought his arm up under hers, trying to knock away the pistol, but she held the gun firm. I threw myself sideways, into the attacker and sent him back towards the door. Marguerite had clear aim with the gun, but Callum rolled deftly backwards, through the doorway and out of sight.

I staggered toward Marguerite to see that she was unharmed, but the woman bolted right past me and out of the room. I could hear her chasing after Callum. My head was ringing and my balance was gone, but I stumbled into the hallway and followed after her – holding the walls for support. I saw her turning up the stairs that led to the promenade. I tried to call out to her, but I was overcome with dizziness; my bleeding ear was playing havoc with my equilibrium.

I climbed to the top of the stairs and I saw that Marguerite had cornered Callum against the lifeboats. She held the gun on him from a distance away. I was relieved to see her safe and glad that I would finally have some answers.

"Returning to Master Xan empty handed is not an option, Miss Smith," Callum said.

"I have other options for you," Margueritde answered back. "You can jump…"

Just then, a shrill ocean wind whistled through my torn eardrum. Flames bore into my head and I doubled over in agony. I could still hear Marguerite talking from some distant place, but I couldn't make out the words. I heard a scuffle and a women's scream – and then darkness folded in on me.

**~ . ~**

_Final Chapter:_** Macapá**


	5. Macapá

– **THE LOST WORLD –**

**Final Correspondence**

**Epilogue**

**- Macapá -**

I watched the dust particles twisting around one another – held captive within the porthole sunlight. They danced in odd silence. I raised my hand against the glare. I was in my compartment – in my bunk – I couldn't hear.

I sat up with a start and my head swam in deep shadows. As the dizziness passed, the events of my midnight excursion came back to me. I reached up and felt my right ear; a bit of cloth had been tucked into the canal. I pulled it out and looked; it was a piece of my shirt – spotted with blood. My ear began to buzz and a dull pain bloomed behind my eye. I replaced the fabric and I slowly recovered.

I stood carefully and examined myself in my shaving mirror. The blood had been cleaned from my hair and cheek. I found my trousers folded neatly at the foot of my bed, but my shirt was missing. My first emotion was one of gratitude that someone had looked after me. My second thought was that Miss Krux had cleaned up all evidence that I might have used to incriminate her. Then, I remembered the woman's scream – Marguerite's scream as I lost consciousness.

I dressed as quickly as I could. My watch read half-past-ten – we were due in port at noon.

I needed to insure that Miss Krux was unharmed. My intent was to check the dining hall and then her stateroom. As I started up the stairs, it occurred to me that I should begin by searching the compartment I had found her packing in the previous night. I rounded the starboard side corridor, but the area had been cordoned off. Several of the ship's officers were standing at the open doorway of the very room I was trying to get to, and the hallway had been blocked.

My worst fears were taking shape. I could see from the demeanor of the officers that something bad had happened. "What's going on there?" I asked the crewman obstructing my way.

"Nothing to be worried about, Sir. The ship will be docking within the hour," He answered, and it was clear that that was the only response I would be getting. I started back for the stairs. I had completely forgotten about my ear – the dizziness had moved to my stomach. I took the stairs two at a time and then I hurried along the promenade, toward the dining hall.

The hushed voices and downcast eyes in the room spoke of a funeral. Summerlee, Challenger, and Roxton sat at our table. The distance between us seemed to grow further with every step I took – _she_ wasn't there.

"Perhaps in daylight the captain could have called _'all stop'_ and they might have gotten a life boat into the water – sent back a search party," Challenger speculated while I took an unsteady seat.

"What the bloody-hell was the woman doing out on deck in the middle of the night?" Roxton asked.

A thousand questions spun in my mind, but it was _the answers I had_ that held me silent.

"Are they sure that it was a woman?" Dr. Summerlee continued the inquiry as he refilled empty teacups.

Challenger answered, "The stern watch reported seeing a _person_ struggling against the ships wake, but several passengers heard a woman's screams in the night."

I finally found my voice, and asked, "So, they're certain that a passenger has gone overboard?"

"Where have _you_ been, Malone?" Roxton asked, half-mockingly. "They've been doing a headcount all morning."

"And Marguerite… _Have you have seen Miss Krux?_" I asked, my voice edged with fear.

"Easy, Ned. They have already found the missing passenger's quarters – it's not among the staterooms," Challenger said. "Miss Krux is _probably_ packing right now."

It was clear that the mysterious starboard compartment – the room I had just been turned away from – had been identified as the quarters of the missing passenger. My friends' concern was for the unknown occupant of that room, believing the poor soul lost at sea. But I was convinced that Miss Krux had booked that room herself – under the name of _Mademoiselle__ Smith_.

I took a deep breath, and prepared myself to tell them everything…

"Professor Challenger?" A dining steward had stepped up to our table – he continued, "The captain has requested your assistance on the helm."

I jumped in before he could answer, "May I come along, Professor?"

Challenger looked to the steward, who nodded consent. The three of us walked to the bridge in silence. The captain was waiting for us, and a wave of déjà vu passed through me as we stepped into the room.

"We've found our missing part, Professor," the captain said, pointing to a large metal cylinder.

"Indeed," Challenger replied, and he lifted the induction coil for examination. "It looks as if the condenser housing has come loose."

"Yes, my com-officer wanted your opinion on that. He was a bit nervous about replacing the coil in that condition."

My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "Where did you find the part, Captain?"

"We're still putting all the facts together," he answered. "But that hunk of metal was found in the room of our missing passenger."

My suspicions were confirmed, and I whispered, "So, Miss Krux _did_ sabotage the wireless."

"Miss Krux?" Professor Challenger looked at me with a raised brow.

The captain cut in quickly, "No… Mademoiselle Smith, the woman who fell overboard last night. My crew has done a room-by-room search. Miss Smith is the only passenger missing – and we found the coil in her compartment."

"You have my condolences, Captain," the professor said. "I know how troubling it is to lose a person in your care." He knelt to the floor to repair the radio, but not before giving me a disapproving look.

I understood then: George Challenger was an overbearing and cantankerous leader; but once he had accepted you, he would brook no assault on your character. Perhaps I had accused Miss Krux out of turn. It was clear from his scowl, that the professor felt accusations were best made in private.

The last of the connections were tightened down on the induction coil, and the wireless hissed and popped to life. The com-operator quickly took his seat and began relaying radio traffic from Macapá. As we left the bridge, the captain thanked us with a short salute, but his attention was on the transmissions from shore.

For the first time in more than a week, we were within sight of land. The unexpected vista drew me to the bow rail.

A rare smile lit the professor's face, and he said, "During the rainy season, that river is _wider_ than the entire _length_ of the Thames." He slapped my shoulder in a paternal way and then he continued on without me. In that moment, I felt that he had accepted me as one of his team.

I leaned into the bow rail and watched the coastline of Brazil growing closer. We were heading into the vast mouth of the Amazon Delta – the yawning river nearly swallowed the horizon. The majesty of it stirred me, and I realized that our mission would go on, in spite of our loss of Miss Krux.

I had been replaying my vague memories of the previous night over and over in my head. If Callum had made the slightest move, Marguerite could have shot him – but she had screamed. She had been in no danger, but she still screamed; then it hit me: I had heard Miss Krux scream, but everyone else had heard _Mademoiselle__ Smith_. Upon that realization, everything else fell into place. I rushed to catch up with Professor Challenger.

I reached the ship's dining room, but my companions had already left. I headed for Miss Krux's stateroom; her quarters were mid-ship on the same deck. The approach whistle sounded two quick times, and I could see the docks of Macapá – just a few minutes away. Passengers were beginning to file onto the decks carrying their luggage.

The door to Marguerite's stateroom stood open (as did most of the doors along the corridor). I stepped inside to find the lady's clothes laying all about the room. The gown she had worn to the masquerade ball was draped across the bed, several pairs of her elegant heels sat in a line near the open wardrobe, and her dinner dress from our first night aboard ship lay in a rumpled heap on the writing desk.

However, it was the items that were _missing_ from her stateroom that confirmed my suspicions: Her packer cap, her riding breeches, and boots, only her _costumes_ were left behind. Her traveling clothes, like the lady herself, were gone.

_It is my belief, Sir, that Miss Krux had orchestrated this entire event. The captain had been correct when he claimed that all but one passenger had been accounted for. Of course Marguerite would be present when counted and __Mademoiselle__ Smith would be missing; the women held the keys to both rooms._

_It was clear that 'Miss Smith' had been in trouble with the Xan. It is my opinion that Marguerite had intended to stage the death of Miss Smith in an attempt to escape them; that had been the purpose of the extra compartment from the very beginning. That is why she screamed when Callum went overboard – her screams were __Mademoiselle__ Smith's epitaph._

I searched the departure ramps all along the starboard side of the ship, but I couldn't find any of my companions. I returned to my own compartment and collected my kit, and then I headed for the first-class departure gates. I pushed my way through the crowds for more than an hour, but I was making little progress. Finally I saw the cause of the slowdown; _every passenger_ was being checked as they left the ship.

I had never before met one lone person who could inconvenience so many, so often. I saw her then; she was a deck below me coming up from steerage-class. I was descending the ramp just above her; by my measure, we would reach the dock at nearly the same time.

When I was close enough to see her better – for just a moment – I thought the woman wasn't Marguerite at all. She wore her hair long and pulled forward covering her forehead and cheeks. Her clothing was in the style the local Brazilians. She looked unlike I had ever seen her before, and I imagined that to be the very point.

I believe I was watching the final twist in Marguerite's plan to elude the Xan (and from what I'd seen in Tenerife, she may have been running from Scotland Yard as well). The lady had been brazen in her portrayal of Mademoiselle Smith; any number of first-class guests would have recognized her on sight. In order to bury _Miss Smith_ at sea, _Miss Krux_ would quietly slip off ship amid the third-class passengers, cloaked in local attire.

I had my passport ready as I prepared to disembark, but I was waved onto the docks with little inspection. I could hear Miss Krux's voice from the adjacent checkpoint, but I couldn't understand a word she was saying; she was speaking Portuguese. I have no ear for the language, but I am sure that her intonation was perfect – the woman no longer surprised me. She passed through the checkpoint just as easily I had, and I believe the customs officer even _welcomed her home_.

Macapá is a busy port, and rivers of foot traffic streamed between Marguerite and me. I watched as she scanned the crowds for a familiar face, holding tight to her bags. I considered confronting her, but my need to beat her at this game had passed – instead I turned west to marvel at the mighty Amazon Basin.

_I address you now from a dockside tavern, Mr. McArdle. The _Esmeralda_ will be departing shortly, and as promised, I will be aboard her. I have reported that I witnessed a murder. I__ cannot say for certain whether Miss Krux forced Callum to jump overboard at gunpoint or not, but it is my fear that she did – a fear that challenged my resolve __to complete this assignment__._

_I__f this is to be my final correspondence, Sir, then please understand: __Destiny is a powerful force__; the only true tragedy that could befall me – would be to decline this adventure._

"Be sure you tell your readers what a handsome devil I am, Mr. Malone," Summerlee teased as he took a seat at my table. Professor Challenger had also entered the tavern, and he was setting his luggage near the door.

I was putting the final touches on my report as my companions found me.

"The _Esmeralda_ is taking on passengers, gentlemen," Lord Roxton said, as he stepped into the bar. "We have just enough time for one quick drink."

"Only days away now," Challenger said, with a visible enthusiasm; his demeanor seemed to improve the closer we got to his mysterious plateau.

Marguerite had come in just behind Roxton, and she was carefully situating her luggage at the door.

The mementos I had collected throughout our voyage were spread out on the table in front of me. I had been using them to help me write.

"Baked pheasant with roasted potatoes," Dr. Summerlee read aloud; he was holding up the meal placard from our first night aboard ship. "Good Heavens, Mr. Malone, did you keep every menu from our voyage?"

"It's the details that my readers look for," I said, as I gathered up my souvenirs.

Miss Krux had stepped up to the table. Among my collection was _Miss Smith's_ boarding pass. I had found the ticket in Marguerite's stateroom, discarded along with her dresses and heels. I covered the ticket nonchalantly, but I knew that she had seen it.

"To the Challenger Expedition," Lord Roxton called out from the bar, and he tipped back an amber glass. "Our steam launch awaits – she won't be at dock long." He clapped his glass to the bar and started for the exit.

"Science never waits," Summerlee said, and he stood to follow after Roxton.

Only Marguerite remained behind. After the others had gone she reached out and began sorting through my mementos. She retrieved Miss Smith's boarding pass, and then she stood to leave.

As she crossed the room, she said, "We only have to spend a few months together, Ned, and then you'll never see me again." She stopped at the door and dropped the ticket into a trash bid.

After a long pause, she said, "Take care what you write about, Mr. Malone; we wouldn't want _another man overboard_." And she left me there alone.

I sat thinking about the threat, but the woman no longer intimidated me as she had at our journey's start. The final boarding whistle sounded, and I crossed the tavern to collect my kit. There, alongside my own bag, sat Marguerite's luggage. I could see no point in leaving it behind, so I strapped my kit across my shoulder, grabbed one of Miss Krux's bags in each hand, and then I hurried to the harbormaster to mail this very report.

_Like dust in a sunbeam, we are drawn into a dance and then let to drift apart – but we will dance again, Marguerite and I._

**- End -**

**~ . ~**

– thank you for taking time to read this story – it is the reading that make words real –

– thank _you_ for that –

[ _a review would mean a lot to me _]


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